A Touchy Subject
by ggo85
Summary: While ruminating on Louisa's absence, Doc Martin is called upon to help out a friend with medical and personal issues.  Written as a collaboration with robspace54.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors' Notes: **

**First, although I'm posting this story, it's a true collaboration between Robspace54 and myself. (This site doesn't seem to allow two people post or take credit for a story, sad to say.) There was joint idea-exchange, writing, and editing - a 50/50 effort and outcome, proving that two minds are usually better than one. The story, as loyal Doc Martin fans will know very well, takes place between Seasons 3 and 4. **

**Second, as always, the story and characters of Doc Martin belong to Buffalo Pictures and not to us. This story is for amusement only and no infringement of legal rights is intended.**

**Third, the story deals with adult themes and medical issues and should be considered a very strong PG-13. If we've erred on the medicine side, it's because there's a huge difference between reading on the Internet and actually being a doctor - as Doc Martin would assuredly inform us.**

**Finally, please know that we're both unspoiled for S5 and really want to keep it that way.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>There were days, Martin thought to himself, when he truly despised house calls.<p>

And today was no exception. He had a full schedule in the surgery meaning that, if he took the time for a home visit, he'd have to reschedule most of his afternoon patients.

It would be more palatable if there were a true emergency. However, he'd discovered during in his years in Portwenn, that most of the time the patient was simply too lazy to make his or her way to the surgery. Much better, the imbeciles had decided, to waste the doctor's time walking or driving to and fro to treat some non-urgent condition. The only reasons he went were that, first, it was arguably his job and, second, the one time he didn't go, it probably would be a real emergency and the patient would end up doing something stupid – like dying.

This call had come just after lunch.

"Mrs. Higgins," Pauline had explained. "Said they sent Katie home from school with a sore throat and fever."

Martin rolled his eyes. "Tell her to bring the child into the surgery."

"Can't."

"Why not?'

"Hubby's got the car and she doesn't want to walk all that way with a sick kid—"

"Where does she live?

"Right up the street from – uh – White Rose Cottage. " Pauline said, giving him an odd look.

Just what he needed, he thought ruefully. At least Louisa would be at school during the day so he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not to stop in. "Give me her notes."

"Whose notes?"

"The girl who's sick," he said in frustration. "And reschedule my appointments for the next hour."

Martin decided to walk rather than drive as there were few parking spots nearby and a brisk stroll in the crisp fall air was just what he needed to clear his mind and, perhaps, improve his mood.

He climbed the hill, seeing Louisa's cottage in the distance. He hadn't been inside, or even passed by, in the two weeks since . . . since they'd called off their wedding. Louisa deserved more of an explanation than he'd given her that afternoon. And, in those weeks, he'd started to reconsider. Not seeing her had left him lonely and depressed. He did need her. Maybe he'd been wrong, maybe they could make a go of it. Maybe he could make her happy, and she him. Maybe they could start over, with a dinner, or something like that.

Because, in the two weeks they'd been apart, he'd realized that Portwenn without Louisa was purgatory. Everything was more annoying than usual – the patients, villagers, illnesses – even Auntie Joan had become annoying. He did his job as efficiently as ever but his free time . . . he didn't even want free time. The only person he truly enjoyed spending time with was Louisa and, for the past fortnight, he'd been deprived of that small joy in what was now his miserable life.

It was stupid, he decided. One of them had to make the first move – to apologize or whatever, as Louisa so often said. Since it clearly wasn't going to be her, it might as well be him. Stubbornness wasn't going to get them anywhere. So, several times he'd considered stopping in to apologize or to explain, and yet each time he'd given up on the idea before he'd even left his own home.

He now climbed the hill toward the Higgins' house, gazing straight ahead as he approached Louisa's familiar cottage. Damn, he'd missed her. She'd be at the school now but tonight he'd call or maybe just stop in unexpectedly. As he came abreast of her home, he couldn't help but move closer to glance into the window, hoping no one would notice and wonder what he was doing.

What he saw, caused him to stop short, frown, then suck in a breath.

The front room was empty. He turned away, blinking, trying to clear his head, then stared back inside. The view hadn't changed. Louisa's sofa was gone, the dining table and chairs, the pictures, the curtains . . . it was all gone. The wooden floors were bare, the kitchen counters vacant, windows naked. It wasn't just the front room – the entire house was empty.

For a moment, Martin stood there gazing into the window like a peeping Tom, trying to digest what he'd seen, or hadn't seen. It was as if Louisa had moved out. Where were her belongings and, more importantly, where was Louisa?

"Doctor! Dr. Ellingham!"

At the sound of his name, Martin reluctantly tore himself away from the sad spectacle. Two doors away, Mrs. Higgins waved at him. "Up here."

After a final look into the window just to make sure his eyes hadn't deceived him, he trudged up the few remaining meters to the Higgins' cottage.

"Thanks for coming, Doc. Hated to call you but Katie's been feeling poorly and her throat's sore and her tummy too."

"You should have brought her to the surgery."

"I didn't want to be taking her out in the cold—"

"It's not cold," he replied and followed her up the stairs. "I couldn't help but notice that . . . Miss Glasson's cottage seems . . ." Martin struggled to find the words.

"Empty? Yes. She moved out day before yesterday."

"What!" Moved out? So it was true, Louisa was gone. Her belongings were gone and so was she. "Where did she go?" he managed to ask.

"London. Taking a job in her friend's school, I think she said." Mrs. Higgins seemed somewhat surprised at his questions. "Didn't you know?"

"Uh, no." Of course he didn't know. If he'd known, he would have talked to her, tried to stop her – something. And London? So she was no longer in Portwenn, and not even in Cornwall. She'd gone all the way to London . . . and maybe even back to Danny Steele.

Mrs. Higgins shrugged. "Thought you'd be the first to know. Well, in any event, she's gone. Such a shame. Don't know how the school's going to get along without her."

So Louisa had left without telling him or even saying goodbye. He deserved it, he supposed, for the way he'd treated her – willing to leave her standing at the altar while he sat at home with cold feet. Still, she could have said _something_. He couldn't help but wonder if he was the only damn person in all of Portwenn who didn't know she'd gone – and why none of his sodding patients had said anything.

They entered the child's room. He remembered the girl now – about seven, thin, with a narrow face and blond curls that encircled her chin.

"Katie," Mrs. Higgins said. "Doc's here."

The girl eyed him warily. As he sat down next to her on the bed, Martin tried to force himself to focus on her medical condition.

"Symptoms?" he demanded.

"She's been running a fever – 39.5 when last I checked an hour ago. That's why I called you," she added. "First thought it was just a cold and didn't want to bother. But she seems worse."

Martin touched the back of his hand to the girl's forehead and his fingers to her carotid. She was indeed feverish and her pulse was probably close to 100. He opened his case and removed several items.

"Open," he ordered, brandishing a tongue depressor and penlight.

The child defiantly kept her mouth shut.

He did not have the patience for this, not today. "Open. Your. Mouth."

"Come on, Katie," Mrs. Higgins said from behind him. "Do as the doctor says."

She did – and stuck her tongue out at him. Obnoxious child. Looked like an angel but with the temperament of an imp. He sometimes wondered how Louisa ever managed to deal with her pupils all day without going mad— Damn!

Focus on your patient, he reminded himself wearily. Inflamed throat, enlarged white tonsils, lungs and chest were fine – no respiratory issues. This wasn't likely to be a difficult diagnosis.

"Lie back," he said pulling up her shirt to check her abdomen, just to be sure he hadn't missed anything.

She squirmed under his probing.

"Stop it," he said sharply. "I can't examine you when you're moving around like that."

"It tickles."

Good god, he hated these types of visits. He stowed away his supplies and pulled out his prescription pad, checking the girl's notes for drug allergies.

"It's tonsillitis," he said to the mother. And how many cases of tonsillitis did he see each month in this godforsaken place? "Prescription for an antibiotic; be sure to give her the full course." He handed it to her. "Rest, paracetamol, throat lozenges from the pharmacy, stay home from school until she feels better. If she gets worse, call me." And how many times had he recited those blasted instructions?

"Shouldn't she have her tonsils out, Doctor?"

"No." Of all the stupid questions.

"But she keeps getting sick."

He consulted the notes again. "She's had a few upper respiratory infections in the past several years and one other bout of tonsillitis eighteen months ago. That's perfectly normal for a child her age."

"I had my tonsils out when I was 'bout Katie's age."

"Good for you."

"But if she has them out then she won't keep getting sick."

He stood up and took a deep breath. "Mrs. Higgins, your daughter has a mild case of tonsillitis which will easily be cured if you simply follow my instructions and give her the antibiotics. Instead, you want to subject your child to an unnecessary surgical procedure, which not only has risks of severe complications but also will compromise her immune system making her more susceptible to infections for the rest of her life. I really don't understand you. Now, if there's nothing else, I need to get back to my surgery. Good day."

Without waiting for a reply, he picked up his case and trudged back down the stairs and out the front door. It was raining and he cursed himself for not bringing a raincoat or umbrella. By the time he reached the surgery, his suit would be a sodden mess. Louisa would have laughed at the sight of him looking less than fully put together.

But she wouldn't be mocking him. Not today, not ever again. She'd gone . . . to London of all places to be with that horrible Holly. And he was headed back to his surgery and his house and more days of this damned village and its tedious patients who didn't like him and, more often than not, didn't listen to him either. And now, there wasn't even the thought of running into Louisa to make any of it bearable.

The weather had greyed the midday sky, and lights were now on in all of the cottages along the lane. Except Louisa's. As he made his way past, it alone stood dark and empty, just like his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Martin returned to the surgery to find a waiting room full of annoyed patients and Al sitting at Pauline's desk working on the computer while she leaned suggestively over his shoulder.

"Pauline, I need a word with you." He nodded toward the consulting room.

"You've got patients."

"I can see that. Now, Pauline."

Al jumped up from his chair. "Doc, I was just installing some additional memory. Pauline said you was going to be out for a bit and I had some free time before dinner so I thought it made sense-"

"Good," Martin responded dismissively. At the moment, he didn't give a damn about the bloody computer. "Pauline!"

Pauline looked back at Al, who shrugged, then followed Martin into the consulting room, standing nervously on her wedge heels as he set down his bag and shut the door.

"Did you know that Louisa-, er, Miss Glasson had left Portwenn."

Pauline gave him an odd look and chewed on her gum. "Well, yeah."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

Her face evidenced clear confusion. "You didn't know? I thought for sure she'd told you—"

"Why is everyone so sure?" he bellowed.

"Gawd, Doc. You and her was setting to get hitched! Figured you was at least still talking to each other. Me and the others reckoned you wanted her to leave or something so it wasn't, you know, awkward with both of you here and all."

Martin felt the blood draining from his head. That's what these people thought? That he'd wanted . . . or maybe even asked Louisa to go away?

"So you _didn't_ know?" Pauline interrupted his thoughts.

"No." He was still trying to digest everything. Louisa had left without telling him, gone to London, and at least half the village probably now blamed him for what had happened.

"Sorry, Doc." Her shoulders slumped in apology. "I would have told you but I just—"

"Never mind."

"You could still call Louisa, talk to her. I'm sure she has the same mobile—"

"I said, never mind." He turned, stood up straight and stiffly made his way to the chair behind his desk, sitting down heavily.

"But, Doc. You loved her. You can't let her run off like that—"

"Pauline, shut up. And get me the notes for the next patient."

* * *

><p>"Al?" Pauline lay on her side in Al's bed, lazily tracing her finger across his chest. It was just after eight in the morning and, if she were going to make it to the surgery on time, she'd have to get moving in short order. All things considered, she'd rather stay where she was for a few more hours, all nice, warm and . . . relaxed. Doc Martin probably wouldn't see it that way, certainly not if she arrived late.<p>

"You awake?" she asked lazily.

"Yeah," Al said, not bothering to open his eyes. He lay on his back, the bed sheet haphazardly drawn up to his waist.

"When we were . . . you know, last night. Close." She giggled, remembering. "I just wondered." She stopped, not quite sure how exactly to say what she wanted to say.

Al turned his face toward her and cracked open one eye. "What you wonderin?"

And now, lying here after a wonderful night together, she was thinking that maybe this wasn't the best time to bring it up.

When she didn't answer, Al opened both eyes wide and frowned at her. "So, what is it?"

Pauline focused her gaze on the far wall. "It's nothing."

Al reached out a hand cupped her chin until she was forced to look directly into his eyes. "Come on, Pauline. Don't be teasing me like that. Out with it."

She kept her gaze averted. "It's . . . when I was . . . when we were . . ." Why was the subject of their lovemaking suddenly so hard to talk about? "I felt something."

"Okay." Al expression showed he was clearly confused. "I think that's what's supposed to happen," he added.

She continued to run her hand along his chest. The last thing she wanted was for him to take her next words the wrong way.

"I mean that I felt something when I was touching you, touching your . . . down there." Damn this was hard. "It felt like a lump . . . or something off," she added hastily.

Al's hand immediately reached under the sheet and, for a moment, he didn't say a word. Pauline held her breath, trying to decide whether she'd made the right decision in mentioning it to him.

"It's nothing," Al finally said in a firm voice, although to Pauline's eyes, he looked far from certain.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yeah. Remember I had that cold a couple of weeks ago. Probably just a swollen gland or something."

"Sure, that makes sense," Pauline said, injecting into her voice more hope than she felt. The thought of a lump anywhere gave her the willies. Last year, a friend's mother had gone to the doctor after finding a lump in her breast; it turned out to be cancer. Pauline wasn't sure about the significance of a lump in a man's bollocks but she was scared enough to encourage Al to get it checked out.

"Maybe you ought to see the Doc. Just to be on the safe side," she added.

"Nah. He'll just give me a good arse-chewing for bothering him over nothing. You know how he gets."

"Yeah, but—"

Al glanced at his watch. "Look what time it is!" He started to push her out of the bed. "Pauline, if you don't get a move on, you're the one who's gonna get a chewing out from the Doc."

"Okay, okay," she said, starting to slide away. "But promise me you'll at least talk to him today."

"I can't today. You know Dad's in Portsmouth checking out new equipment for the restaurant. Someone's got to keep things running while he's away. Besides, like I told you, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Now get going!"

Despite Al's assurances, Pauline couldn't completely shake off her concerns as she made her way to the surgery. Once there, she spent much of the morning surfing the Internet and what she found did nothing to lessen her fears. Then again, she'd heard the Doc get after more than a few of his patients for relying on the Internet for medical advice so maybe what she'd read was all a bunch of rubbish.

It was mid-morning before there was a break in the surgery schedule. Pauline often marveled at the number of patients Doc was able to see in a day. Then again, when you refused to engage in any small talk, things tended to move much more quickly.

The doctor brought out a small stack of patient notes from the morning and handed them to her for filing.

"I'll just grab a quick cup of tea before the next patient," he announced.

"Doc," she said, standing up from the desk and following him into the kitchen. "Can I ask you a medical question?"

He seemed a bit surprised by the request but nodded. "Go ahead."

She sucked in a deep breath. "If a fellow has a lump in his . . ." She paused, immediately regretting having started this conversation. "In his . . . you know."

"No, I don't." The Doc poured his tea and took a small sip.

"His . . . bollocks," she said with exasperation. "Is a lump there serious?"

"Not necessarily. A mass in the testis is not all that uncommon and can be caused by any number of benign conditions, such as a cyst, a hernia, or even a varicose vein."

Inwardly, she sighed with relief; her research hadn't turned up some of those explanations and they definitely sounded a lot less serious than cancer.

"A testicular lump can also be caused by trauma to the testes," he continued, "such as from athletic injury or even a car accident. And, of course, in some cases, a testicular mass is a carcinoma."

Her gut clenched at this one. "How do you know which it is?"

"I perform an examination and, depending on the findings, refer the patient to a specialist for tests such as an ultrasound examination, which is typically conclusive."

"And what if it's cancer?"

He took another drink from his cup before answering. "Surgery to remove the testicle is the only treatment and is highly effective. Depending on the pathology, the patient may require radiation and/or chemotherapy." The doctor cocked his head. "Pauline, why the sudden interest in this subject?"

"Um, I was just wondering, that's all."

"Right. So in the middle of my morning surgery, you suddenly develop a fascination with the diagnosis of treatment of testicular masses."

Pauline cringed. The Doc wasn't stupid and she should have known that her odd questions would raise his suspicions. Whatever she said would only make things worse, so she decided it best, for once, to keep her mouth shut.

"Pauline?" His eyes bored into hers. "What aren't you telling me?"


	3. Chapter 3

By two o'clock that afternoon, the Large Restaurant lunch crowd had mostly gone back to work or home or wherever they'd come from to grab a quick bite. As they were finishing their meals, I was already starting to set up the empty tables for dinner, making sure to chat with the remaining customers as I laid out the tablecloths, dishes, and silverware.

Mr. Williams, who ran one of the groceries in the village, sat at a nearby table polishing off a dish of strawberry sorbet while telling me how much he liked our new lunch menu, lower prices, and takeaway service.

"Makes it easy to just pop by and pick up a good meal," he said. "And for a fair price too." I noted with irony that today he'd chosen to eat in.

"Glad you like it," I replied, folding another napkin and placing it beside the dinner plate. "I'll let Dad know when he gets back."

"I heard that Bert's been away. Whatever's he doing down in Portsmouth?"

"We're looking into buying a new fryer and a bigger bake oven. He's checking out the prices."

"Everything's so expensive today, isn't it? Makes it hard to turn a profit."

"You bet."

I looked up at the sound of clattering heels and was surprised to see Doc Martin descending the steps towards me. He was a rare visitor to our restaurant under any circumstances, and I couldn't ever recall having seen him come alone or during the hours his surgery was open unless he was attending to an emergency.

"Doc!" I called out. "What the surprise seeing you here. Looking for a late lunch?"

"No, Al." He crossed over to me, passing the remaining diners without comment. "I'd like a word with you."

As always, the Doc ignored the fact he was interrupting another conversation. Or, more likely, didn't care.

"Sure," I replied shrugging apologetically at Mr. Williams.

Doc Martin glanced around and nodded toward a far corner of the restaurant's patio. "Over there." He walked the short distance with a purposeful stride and I followed him wondering what it was that he wanted to speak with me about in private in the middle of the afternoon.

"Something wrong, Doc?" I finally asked. "Something amiss with the surgery computers?"

"No." He stopped and faced me. "You tell me, Al. Pauline spoke to me this morning."

Oh god. Pauline hadn't actually told _him_ about my problem, had she? My heart sank and I immediately wanted to crawl under the nearest table. I sucked in a breath. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn't told him everything.

"Al, I'll need to examine you."

"It's no big deal."

"We won't know that until I examine you, now will we?"

Shit. The look in the Doc's eyes and the titanium in his voice made clear that Pauline had indeed told him everything. And the fact that he'd left the surgery to find me in the middle of the day suggested that whatever she'd said had raised at least some concerns in his mind.

I shook my head in defiance. "She had no right to tell you."

"That's neither here or there now, is it?" He paused and, when I didn't say anything, added, "When can you come to the surgery? I have an opening this afternoon."

I tried to find my voice. "Uh, not then. I don't want Pauline to know."

He frowned. "She already knows."

I flinched. "That you're here now?"

"Of course not. My conversation with you is none of her business."

"Well I don't want her to know anything more than she already does. That's my right, isn't it? Confidentiality and all that."

"Of course it is. Come this evening then, around six. Pauline will be long gone."

"I can't tonight, Doc. Dad's out of town and I've got a restaurant to run."

He let out a small sigh of frustration. "All right then, tomorrow morning. Stop in at 7:30; it won't take long."

When I started to protest, he raised a single hand. "Al, this shouldn't wait."

The words sent fear shooting from my eyeballs through my toes. I tried to think of some excuse, some way out, but none magically appeared, leaving me only to nod my agreement. "Yeah, okay," I managed. "I'll be there."

"Good," he replied and, without another word, turned on his heel and walked back up the stairs.

* * *

><p>The next morning I stood outside the door to the surgery at the appointed time. I'd spent much of the night feeling the blasted lump and worrying. Had it grown in the last day?<p>

I'd begged off a night with Pauline and slept on the couch, telling her that I'd be at the restaurant until very late and would only wake her. In truth, not only was I pissed at her for talking to the Doc without my permission, but I also didn't want her to know the Doc had come to see me and especially didn't want to have to explain to why I was leaving the house several hours earlier than I usually awakened.

The coffee was left over, but it was hot. I gingerly snuck about to make sure that Pauline didn't wake and slurped the vile black liquid. I sighed as the stuff did its work. This was all wrong, sneaking about behind Pauline's back. It was all so unfair, and all so . . . frightening. There was that, wasn't it?

I looked across the harbor where the boats were starting to head out for another day's catch. How good it would be to just sail away, just take off and leave this worry behind.

The coffee mug was hard and solid in my hand and the steamy black liquid shot down my throat like a rocket. I looked up to the ceiling where Pauline was snuggled into the blankets. I should just go upstairs and strip off and climb in with her and just… stay there all day.

My other hand crept down and settled on my crotch. Jeeze. What if?

"Steady old boys, we'll just have to see this through, won't we?" Yeah, super. I shook my head sadly. I put the mug down and went to the door, and looked back at the kitchen. What if this moment, right now, was the boundary between now and the rest of my life?

The morning fog crept over the harbor as I knocked softly on the front door of the surgery hoping that maybe the Doc had forgotten my appointment or, better yet, was still asleep.

No such luck, I realized, as the door opened almost immediately to reveal him dressed in his usual meticulous three-button suit and smartly tied necktie. It was a blue and grey striped number, I noted in passing.

"Morning, Doc," I said with much more cheer than I felt.

"Come in, Al." He held open the door. "Go through."

As usual, the Doc wasted no time on pleasantries or small talk and, in any event, this morning they wouldn't have made me feel any better. I passed directly through the darkened and empty waiting room like a condemned man to the gallows into the brightly lit consulting room, mostly thankful that Pauline wasn't here to witness this.

"Take a seat."

I did as told in the chair in front of the Doc's desk and, an instant later, heard the door to the consulting room shut tightly behind me.

The Doc took his own seat behind the desk, looking grumpy as usual.

I told him what Pauline had pointed out, that there was a lump in my left testicle. Somehow, in the Doc's consulting room, the technical term seemed more appropriate.

"So what you think, Doc? Is this normal? I mean for a guy like me?"

Doc gazed at me steadily. "You said that you and Bert were moving furniture last week on a hot day. Could be some local irritation - sweating – chafing – so forth, or maybe even a hernia from lifting those heavy things."

That didn't sound too serious.

"Is the lump painful?"

"Yeah," I admitted, unsure from the Doc's expression whether that was good or bad. "It hurts now. Really. I told Pauline it was nothing…" I looked away. "Now it hurts, even without touching it."

He stood up. "I'll examine you."

My eyebrows went up. "Really?"

"Al, I didn't all but _force_ you to come here if I thought this was something to be ignored. And I can't determine if it's normal, as you put it, if I don't examine you."

"So, like drop my drawers?"

"Yes. Behind the screen. Trousers and boxers down."

As I walked to the screen, I heard the Doc mutter. "Just my luck to start the day looking at the nether regions of Portwenn."

I loosened my belt. "What's that, Doc?" I dropped my jeans and boxers. The air was cold and I cringed at the sound of his snapping on examination gloves.

"Nothing. Clothes down? Good." He wheeled over on a small stool, his hands gloved in white. "Feet apart now. There you go. Look forward!"

I stood there trying to do two things. One was not to giggle, as I was ticklish. The other was obvious, although the Doc wasn't exactly my type, of course.

"Al, relax. You're acting like you're guarding the palace! Don't tense up."

"Right." Easy for him to say.

His hands probed all over and under and I squirmed. "God Doc, those gloves are cold."

"Sorry. Hmm, hmm..." The Doc looked closely down there. "Have you always had a lump on the left side?"

"No. That's where it hurts."

Doc probed around on my belly and between my legs. "No inguinal masses, though." He went back to squeezing my left testicle.

"You about done down there?"

"Shush!" He stuck his finger in my scrotum and told me to cough.

I did.

He nodded. "Not a hernia."

I stood there longer as my privates got squeezed and prodded more. Not fun.

"Alright. Al, lie here on the exam couch, on your side, please. I need to do a rectal exam."

God. I'd expected the other but . . . this? "You're not! You won't!"

"Yes, I am."

He did. It was the first time I'd ever experienced this sort of thing. Humiliating.

"Right." Doc Martin said, stripped off his gloves and binned them. "Get dressed. I'm sending you to a urologist."

"What you think it is?"

"Could be any number of things – a bruise, a tumor, or an injury."

Tumor? I acted like I didn't hear that one, but my heart sped up. I kind of wished I could see his expression but he was at his desk and I was getting dressed. I quickly pulled up my boxers and jeans.

"And what's a uro...lollygis?" I asked, stepping out from behind the screen.

"Urologist. Urinary specialist. In Wadebridge. I'll see if I can get you an appointment tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? So it is serious, then." I didn't pray very often but I did then. I fastened my belt and tucked in my shirt, trying not to face his eyes.

"Maybe not. We'll just have to see."

I blew out a shaky breath. "Ok. And Doc, remember, you can't tell Pauline. I don't want her to worry." I looked at the floor and blinked a few times. God, Al, don't cry in front of the Doc! I wiped my face with my hand.

"I won't. Patient information. And it won't help for you worry either." He handed me a tissue. "Here. I'll call you with the time and place of the exam. You should hear later this morning."

"Thanks Doc." I sniffed and blew my nose.

"Sure, Al."

I wadded up the tissue and tossed it to the bin. "Doc, you think it's serious don't you? That's why you're sending me to this specialist, right?"

He leaned back in his desk chair trying to look calm. But I could tell he wasn't. "We should know in a few days," he said.

I fastened my belt. "You're worried."

Doc sat up straight. "Me? No. I never worry."

Like I believed him! I walked out very glad that Pauline, in fact no one, was in the waiting room to see me wipe my face on my sleeve. And when the surgery door slammed behind me it sounded like the crash of fate.


	4. Chapter 4

Martin sat alone at his desk for a few minutes after Al left, mulling on the events of the past few minutes. He had a certain fondness for the young man. Al was smart – not only was he a decent plumber but he understood computers better than anyone in Portwenn and certainly better than Martin himself. Other than Auntie Joan and Louisa, Martin was probably as friendly with Al as anyone else in the village.

And now Louisa was gone and Al . . .

Frankly, he was concerned about the results of Al's examination – more concerned than he'd let on. The mass had felt like a solid tumor and that wasn't likely to be good news. Of course, he wasn't a urologist, which is why he'd send Al to the specialist.

He wondered if he should have been more direct with Al, but there was no need to get him all worked up until he'd seen the specialist and had a definitive diagnosis.

At least Al had Pauline for support. Martin almost smiled thinking about their wild, carefree relationship. They never seemed afraid to show their affection for each other, in the waiting room, at the restaurant, even on his kitchen table. And Martin had little doubt that Pauline would be there with him throughout whatever was to come. Beneath those crazy orange outfits and gaudy jewelry was a steely woman with fierce sense of loyalty.

It was nothing like the relationship he had – or, rather, used to have, he thought wryly, with Louisa. They had trouble even having a conversation without arguing and Martin couldn't think of more than a handful of times that they'd shown each other real affection in public.

And yet, he missed her terribly. There'd been a certain comfort in knowing that he could see her simply by walking down to the school. Or that he'd almost assuredly run into her at the grocer or pharmacy or dry cleaners. Now, that was all gone, along with her.

For quite a long time, he rolled his pen in his hands, thinking about Al and Louisa and himself.

* * *

><p>Pauline hurried into the surgery fifteen minutes earlier than she usually arrived, hoping to corner the Doc before his first patient showed up. He'd been mum since she'd talked to him about Al yesterday morning and she was dying to know if he'd said or done anything.<p>

To her surprise, the waiting room lights were already on and Doc Martin was seated at his desk in the consulting room, writing what looked to be patient notes.

She dumped her bag atop her desk with a loud clatter. "Morning, Doc!" she called to him, reaching over to turn on the computer.

"Good morning, Pauline."

She walked toward the consulting room door and leaned against the frame, noting that he'd put away the notes he'd been writing rather than giving them to her for filing. Strange.

"You're up early," she said.

"I'm always awake at this hour."

"But you're not usually down here, in the surgery."

His face was expressionless. "I had something I needed to do."

Sometimes, the Doc had a way of speaking while giving away absolutely nothing; clearly, this was one of those times.

Pauline returned to her desk and pulled up the day's list of patients, frowning as she scanned it. Al's name was nowhere to be seen. She opened the filing cabinet drawer and fingered the patient notes folders. Al's was there, all right, right after Teresa Langley and before his own father's file, Bert Large.

Using her body to shield what she was doing from the consulting room, she pulled out Al's most recent notes card. The last entry was dated more than a month ago and documented the Doc's final comments on Al's recovery from his bout with the sleeping sickness. Nothing since then. Damn.

Surely the Doc had said or done something; he'd seemed concerned enough yesterday when she'd told him what she'd found. Of course, he'd ended that conversation by telling her to have Al come see him in the surgery. Like she hadn't already tried that. She'd hoped that the Doc would track Al down, but now it seemed that hadn't happened.

She grabbed the morning surgery list and pulled together the notes packets for the first patients, thus giving herself an excuse to again walk into the consulting room.

"Here you go," she said, showing her full set of teeth. "First three patients. Mr. Sanders, Mrs. Edwards with Josephine, and Tom Markeley.

He took them from her. "Thank you."

She remained standing beside his desk, trying to figure out how to ask what she needed to know.

He looked up at her. "Was there something else?"

The direct approach seemed the only one likely to work with him. "Yeah. Did you talk to Al? About . . . you know."

His expression was disapproving. "Pauline, you know I don't discuss my patients, even with you."

Aha, she thought to herself. Got you this time, Doc. "So, Al is your patient," she said triumphantly. "You did talk to him."

"I'm the GP. Everyone in Portwenn is my patient," he replied. "And you know I've treated Al in the past."

Damn him. "Doc, I'm worried about him. I read all about it on the Internet. It could be cancer. Can't you at least tell me if you talked to him or examined him or something?"

"No. If you want to know something about Al, you'll need to ask Al."

"But he won't talk to me about it." She was almost wailing now and didn't care. "He won't talk to me at all since I told him. Look what I've done. I shouldn't have told you. I shouldn't have told him. I should have just left things well enough alone. Everything was good until I had to go and muck it all up by opening my big mouth—"

"Pauline."

"I was so stupid to say anything. You can't tell a guy there's anything wrong with his bollocks, and I had to go and—"

"Pauline!" The Doc was nearly shouting.

She closed her mouth in mid-sentence.

"You did the right thing," he said softly. "Now shut up, go sit at your desk and get ready for the first patient." The words were his usual bluster but the tone of his voice set her hairs on edge.

She slowly backed out of the room.

"And shut the door. I have some calls to make."


	5. Chapter 5

"Your name is Albert Large?" the pretty clerk asked me.

"No, just Al. Bert, I mean, Albert is my dad."

She bent her raven head over the keyboard. "And Dr. Martin Ellingham is your doctor?"

"Yeah. He's the GP," I said slowly, shuffling my feet beneath the counter.

"Well, you don't sound very pleased about it," she responded.

"Listen miss, or whatever, just get on with it, would you?"

"No need to be so touchy… just confirming the records." She sighed. "Ok. Sign here and here," she pointed to boxes the paper forms. "And date it over here."

"Ok," I said but started to read the form instead of signing. There were a whole lot of dense phrases about the test and when the results should be available. I'd spent some quick time on the PC last night after Pauline fell asleep, so I knew what to expect, sort of.

"Well, come on, then! Sign it, would you?" the woman urged me.

Her green eyes were deep and pretty but she pissed me off. I didn't like her – bossy – in spite of her looks. I gave her a hard look and my jaw was tight as the words came out.

"Listen," I started and looked at the nametag over her large left bap, partially hidden under a tight blue sweater; nice to look at but I was _not_ in the mood. "Tiffany… I saw the GP, that's Doc Martin, yesterday morning, I then dragged my scared arse all the way over here to Wadebridge before first light, and I am not very happy about any of this. So let me read the bloody form, will you?"

She sniffed. "Well, alright. But hurry."

"Oh? Missing your coffee, sweetheart?" I said as I shook my head.

"Yeah, I am."

Bitch. I went back to reading, both sides of the forms too. I turned it back to the front. "Alright. Give me a pen."

She slowly held out a Biro. "Here." Her hand brushed mine and her eyes were now huge. "You're kinda cute."

What kind of weird game was she playing at? Now it was my turn. "Oh?" I grinned at her. "Have to tell my live-in girlfriend that this bird at the doc's was checking me out." I cracked my gum for good measure.

Her face fell. "Oh," came out icily.

The room was cold, the walls were some sort of beige, and the plastic on the exam couch was cold and slick. A nurse had taken me from the rule of Tiffany, then down a hall, and pushed me into this room.

"Here," she said and handed me a paper gown. "Strip off. Everything. You can hang your clothes on these hooks here. Then gown on, slit in the back. Then wait."

Before she left though, she cleaned my arm, got out a syringe and took blood samples. Great massive tubes of them.

"God. What you gonna do with all that, drink it?" I asked.

"Yes," she grinned. "You're so tasty." Then she left.

What was it with the women in this office? I stripped off as instructed and put on the paper gown. Silly thing. I suppose if I was a woman I'd have to wear the slit in the front. Sodding doctors!

I hated this room, the gown, the lump - everything. I wondered if this was how a steer felt on his way to the slaughterhouse. These folks made Doc Martin look like a positively nice guy. At least he just did the medicine stuff straight on. I had to give that to the Doc. So I waited, chewing my gum, looking at a little cart where there were lots of cables, some kind of computer, and other stuff. I waddled over on the cold floor and looked at it, holding the gown closed in the back. It looked a lot a regular computer, with extra vented boxes of some kind on the side.

There came a quick knock on the door, it flew open, and a little Indian fellow breezed in. He almost came up to my armpits. "Hello, Mr. Large?" he held out his hand. "I am Doctor Johri. I'm the urologist that Doctor Ellingham called. Only too glad to examine you."

I whirled to cover my backside. But I took his hand, which was warm, the warmest thing in this cold office. "Thanks. So, uh… what the Doc, I mean what did Doctor Ellingham tell you?"

The little doctor smiled up at me. "He said he was sending a friend over for me to examine. That he was a twenty-seven-year-old male, with a mass in his left testicle. Usually I'd have a technician perform the ultrasound test, but since I have consulted with Doctor Ellingham before, I knew he would appreciate special care."

"The Doc said that? A friend?"

"Yes." His smiling face gave me hope.

"Right. It's ok, then."

"Now," he began, "I know that Doctor Ellingham has performed an exam, but I will ask you all sorts of questions, some that he has, some that he has not. Let us begin."

So the questions started while this total stranger, but one that Doc Martin knew, listened carefully to my entire medical history, which didn't take very long at all. The worst was that I was sitting there practically bare arsed naked with my thing sticking out while this doc talked to me. We covered the same ground as Doc Martin. I didn't mind it with Doctor Johri. Seemed like a nice guy.

"So, may I examine you now?"

"Sure."

"Mr. Large, I know this is uncomfortable for you. But please be assured that we must investigate this problem, if it is a problem."

"Right. Ok, doc, get on with it."

"Thank you. Please stand, your feet apart and face me."

So he repeated the entire exam the doc gave me yesterday. Cold gloves again too. Can't say I liked it but had to be done. When he touched my left one, it hurt, a lot. "Jesus! Can't you…"

"Sorry, sorry. So sorry. Yes that is sensitive. On a scale of one to ten, if ten is the worst…"

"Well, doc it kinds depends upon how hard you squeeze, don't it?"

"Yes, quite right. So it's an eight then."

"Maybe a seven."

"And just standing there? When I'm not touching you?"

"Maybe a three or a two, depends."

"Yes. Mr. Large, I want you to lie down here on the table, on your back." He wheeled over the cart and flipped some switches. "This is an ultrasound machine. It will bounce very high frequency pulses of sound into your body. The sound waves bounce off of things inside your body and come back to the antenna." He held up a wand like thing on a cable. "It will then send those signals into this computer and I will have an image on the screen."

"Sort of like sonar, isn't it?"

He smiled a huge smile over perfect white teeth. "Yes, just like sonar. No submarines in there I hope?"

"I hope not too."

He spread some sort of gel on my scrotum and it was cold. "Cripes!"

"Sorry. This gel is a couplant and allows the sound waves to better pass inside you. It will warm in time. Give it a moment or two." He pushed the wand against my skin. "Just relax and try not to move. Movement will blur the scan. Can you spread your legs just a bit? Good, right there."

"Okay."

This went on for a bit until he got to my left testicle. When the wand hit, it felt like fire. "Jesus! Doc, that - ow!"

The doc patted my arm. "Sorry. Take a moment, catch a breath," he soothed. Then, after a few seconds, "Better?"

"Yes, just the pressure – hurts." I wiped my eyes with my hand. This was no fun at all.

"This will be over in a minute. Okay?"

"Yeah. Get it over with."

It did hurt, but Doc Johri knew so he was very careful, and only a few twinges hit me as he ran that wand thing all over my left one – up, down and sideways.

"Good, good, Mr. Large. Very good." He stripped off gloves and binned them, then handed me a box of those little alcohol wipes. "Here. Clean yourself and get dressed." He pulled a memory stick from the computer and palmed it. "All done. We'll examine the scan immediately and I will call Doctor Ellingham. We'll also run the blood samples. Sorry I hurt you."

"It's ok." I sat up. "How long, doc? I mean until you know what this thing is?"

He sucked his teeth. "Four days, maybe less." He looked at a wall calendar. "I'd say perhaps on next Tuesday."

"Tuesday? After the weekend?"

"Yes. Sorry for the delay but the blood work will take some time. Perhaps Monday if I can get the lab to…"

"Doc! Wait! You just figure this thing out. Ok? Don't rush it and make a mistake. Ok?" It would be a bloody dark weekend, but better to get it right. "Just get… it … right."

Dr. Johri nodded his dark head. "Yes. Have no fear, Mr. Large. We will take good care of you."

"Thanks."

"And tell Doctor Ellingham I said hello." He shook my hand.

"Sure."

On the way out of the office Tiffany was sitting there at her desk, all bitchy over her little domain. She gave me an interested look and a big hopeful smile. So I flipped her the bird.


	6. Chapter 6

Pauline felt Al roll over, climb out of the warm bed and go into the loo. She peered at the clock and it was three thirty, Saturday morning. Al had fallen into bed like a zombie, so why was he up now? She heard the toilet flush, footsteps in the hall and the bedroom door close. But no creak of bedsprings; no sliding of Al's body under the covers. She rolled onto her back and could see Al sitting in the chair by the window, peering out around the curtain.

"Al?"

"Yeah, Paul?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Then bed."

He padded over and climbed in, lying on his side. She scooted over and put her arm around him. He seemed tense. He usually spooned up against her back, so this was opposite.

She ran her hand down his back and he flinched. "Al? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She put her right hand around his waist and he grabbed it.

"Paul. Don't!"

"Al? Baby, what's wrong?"

"Just…" He sniffled. "Just… don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't… just hold me, ok?"

"Okay. Not interested?"

"Jesus, Paul!" He rolled over and she could just make his face in the dimness. "It's…"

"What?"

He sighed and rocked his head. "It's…"

"Al? Tell me. What is wrong?"

He stayed silent.

"It's the bollocks thing, ain't it?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "It hurts, Paul."

Jesus! Her eyes grew wide in the dark and her heart started banging away. "Is it… serious?"

"They'll let me know Tuesday, maybe."

"You went to see the Doc."

"Yeah, two docs actually. Doc Martin sent me to this other doc in Wadebridge. A specialist."

"Oh." Her heart sank. "That's serious."

"Maybe. Have to see. This other doc, and Doc Martin too, told me not to worry."

He was warm against her, the thin nightgown easily passed his body heat, and now sweat starting pouring off her body. "They said not to worry," she said.

"Yeah. Right. Not to worry."

"Are you? Worried?"

"Yeah." He put his left arm over her and turned on his side so they were lying face to face. "Yeah, I am."

"Oh."

He touched her hair and neck. "Don't you worry either."

"Al? What if it's…"

"It won't be."

"But masses, er, down there, can be cancer!"

"Yeah. I know how to use the Internet too." He sighed.

She didn't know how long they lay there like that, his hand on her hair, her hand on his back. It was a long night.

* * *

><p>For the past three days, since the minute I'd left Dr. Johri's consulting room, I'd jumped every time my mobile had rung, wondering if was him or Doc Martin calling. And I couldn't quite decide whether I wanted to take that call or not.<p>

On the one hand, the worrying was killing me, and a part of me simply wanted to know one way or the other. On the other hand, if the news was bad, I knew this was the first day of a life of worrying . . . or worse.

Dad had returned on Saturday. I hadn't told him anything about what had happened and had sworn Paul to silence as well. She'd nagged at me to tell him something but I figured that it made sense to wait – at least until we knew something for certain. Maybe it would be nothing at all and I could pretend the last couple of days hadn't even happened.

Trying to appear interested in what our customers wanted for lunch or dinner or Dad's discussion of the relative costs of various models of deep fat fryers took more energy than I had and, by Monday afternoon, I was looking for ways to avoid my dad, Pauline and everyone else.

"So, Al," my Dad said across the kitchen, "should we go with the chicken parmagiana or the monkfish en buerre for our special tonight?"

"Monkfish," I responded, not caring a whit either way.

"Are you sure? I saw you did a fish special on Friday and . . ."

Friday? Friday now seemed like a year ago. And whether we served chicken or fish or lizard for that matter seemed like the most useless decision in the world.

"Are you listening, son?"

"I said the monkfish was fine," I replied, turning away.

"That's not what I was askin'" Dad said a minute later. "Al? . . . Al? . . . What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Something must be. You seem torn up 'bout something all day long."

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"So do I, like trying to figure out what our dinner special should be. And I also need your help with—"

I jumped at the sound of my mobile going off. I snatched it out of my pocket and, without thinking, answered.

"Al, it's Dr. Ellingham."

I almost threw up at the sound of his voice.

"Al? Are you there?"

"Uh, yeah. Just a minute." I nearly ran outside, not wanting to get whatever news he was going to deliver in front of Dad. Once on the patio, I glanced around, making sure my conversation would be private.

"Yeah, Doc. It's me."

"Can you stop by the surgery?"

Shit. "You know something, don't you? Tell me now."

"No." That was the Doc, simple and direct as always.

"No, you don't know anything or no you won't tell me?" Without waiting for his answer, I added, "It's bad news, isn't it?"

"Al, I won't discuss your medical situation over the telephone. Now, I'd like to see you in the surgery. Today."

"All right," I said shakily. I knew I couldn't deal with Pauline being there, even if it meant waiting a few more hours. I considered asking the Doc to meet me someplace else but he probably had patients to see and he'd already come to the restaurant once . . . and with Dad now here it was the last place I wanted to meet him.

"Six o'clock?" I offered.

"Fine." He rang off.

* * *

><p>"I spoke with Dr. Johri this afternoon regarding the results of your tests," Doc started. He sat upright across the desk from me. I kept my feet flat on the floor and tried not to look away as he spoke. The Doc was fiddling with his fountain pen, tapping it against the palm of his open hand. It was making me nervous.<p>

I said nothing as I waited for his verdict.

"He confirmed that the mass in your testicle is a tumor."

Doc actually looked sad and I felt the air leave my throat.

"Cancer," I said, trying to wrap myself around the word.

"Not necessarily," the Doc said. "Some testicular tumors are benign."

But I knew from my Internet research that most were cancer. I had the big C. For what seemed like a full minute, I sucked in deep breaths and yet still couldn't seem to get enough air. The large room suddenly seemed very small and hot and suffocating—

"Al, are you okay?" The Doc's eyes had narrowed in concern.

Perfect, Doc. You just told me I have cancer in my bollock. They'll cut it off and I'll be running around the rest of my life with one nut. Girls'll be standing in line for me and guys in the loo won't notice at all that I'm half a man. That is if I don't die. I'm doing just dandy, thank you. No worries at all.

"Al? Al?" I felt pressure on my wrist and a strong hand pushed my head down toward my . . . my knees. "Take slow deep breaths, Al." I tried. "That's it."

"I'm all right," I said after a minute, fighting to sit up against his restraining hand. He let me rise, slowly. God help me, I'd almost passed out like some nervous Nellie.

"Sorry," I said once I'd returned to a sitting position and realized the Doc was kneeling next to me, something between worry and annoyance etched on his features.

"Hmm." He checked my pulse at my neck and wrist and, apparently satisfied, stood up and returned to his seat behind the desk.

I knew I had to pull myself together and start acting like a man, especially in front of the Doc. He'd told Dr. Johri that I was his friend and his friends probably didn't faint away when they got bad news.

"So what happens . . . next?" I asked, trying to sound a lot more sure of myself than I felt.

The Doc's professional mask was back in place. "Dr. Johri will operate to remove the affected testicle. Then they'll do a biopsy on the excised tissue to see if it's cancer." It was as if he was reciting from a textbook and, yet, the detached tone was oddly reassuring. If he wasn't in a panic, maybe I shouldn't be either.

"And if it is . . ." I couldn't bring myself to say the word aloud. "Then what?"

"If it's cancer, they'll run additional tests determine if it's spread beyond the testis. It's referred to as 'staging.' If the cancer is not advanced, you may need no treatment beyond the surgery. The blood tests Dr. Johri ran showed you have no tumor markers, which is a very good sign."

"Do they really have to . . . cut it off?" It pained me even to say the words.

"Yes."

"Why can't they just—"

"Perform the biopsy without removing the testicle?"

It was as if the Doc had read my mind – and said it a lot better than I would have. "Yeah," I managed.

"There's a danger that, if it is cancer, a biopsy could spread malignant cells to other parts of your body. The safest course is to remove the entire organ."

Great. I tried to picture myself lopsided and involuntarily winced. "So when do they do this surgery?"

"Dr. Johri wants to schedule you as soon as possible. He operates on Thursdays and can fit you in this week."

Thursday. Three days from now. My hand wandered to my left side. Only three more days of looking normal and being normal. Shit.

"Al, it's not wise to wait in these cases."

For some reason, his words set me off. "So I'm a case now, am I? Another correct diagnosis shuttled off to the nearest consultant to have his bollocks cut off. Your work is done, right Doc?"

"Al."

The Doc's voice was surprisingly soft, but in my current state, I wasn't in the mood. I stood up and moved to the door. "Doesn't matter to you, does it? You'll sleep soundly tonight. No girl's gonna look at you like some circus freak! – the one-balled boy. If I'm not dead, that is."

"Al." The Doc was now standing behind his desk. "You're talking nonsense. Sit down and calm down." It seemed that he took a breath before adding, "Please."

There was something in his voice. He was his usual domineering and obstinate self. Yet, I also heard what I took to be a note of compassion and so, rather than rush out of the surgery, I returned to my chair, slumped and defeated.


	7. Chapter 7

"Can I get you something to drink?" Doc asked after a moment, still towering over me.

"I'll need something stronger than bottled water," I replied, figuring he probably wouldn't have it.

"Will whiskey do?"

Damn. "Yeah. Can you make it a double?"

"Wait here."

He returned a few minutes later, a tumbler filled with amber liquid in hand. I eagerly took it from him and gulped down a few sips. This time, instead of sitting in his chair, he perched against the front of his desk.

"Better?" he asked, looking down at me.

Suddenly, I felt ashamed for my reaction. It wasn't the Doc's fault that I might have cancer. Blaming him wasn't going to help. I took another sip, longer and deeper this time, letting the liquid slide down my throat.

"Good stuff, Doc."

"I'm glad you approve."

"Doc, what's gonna happen to me?"

"You're going to have the surgery. If all goes well, you won't need more than close follow up for a few years."

"What does that mean?"

"Frequent exams and scans. No chemotherapy or radiation."

I thought back over my recent exams with the two docs and decided that didn't sound like much fun, though it probably beat the alternative. "And if all doesn't go well, as you say, then what?"

"Al, don't get ahead of yourself. Dr. Johri and I both believe that, if it is cancer, we've caught it at an early stage."

"Either way, I won't be able to have sex or kids, will I?"

"Yes, you will."

I glanced up at those words. He sounded so certain and that alone was reassuring. "But how . . .?"

"After the surgery you'll be perfectly able to engage in intercourse."

"With one bollock?"

"The surgery will have no effect on your ability to achieve erection or produce sperm."

"But I won't have as many . . . sperm, will I?" I couldn't believe I was actually having this conversation, even with a doctor. But I needed to know what I was facing and the Doc was the one person I trusted to explain it honestly and without getting all emotional, like I had.

"In most cases, the sperm from the remaining testicle are more than sufficient to . . . procreate. Most men who have orchiectomy – surgery to remove a testicle – subsequently father children and I know many who have done so."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I don't do that."

That was true, I thought to myself.

"Al, some men feel more comfortable storing sperm before surgery, just to be sure. You can discuss that with Dr. Johri, if you like."

I gulped down the rest of the whiskey. Even though the Doc had explained things clearly and they didn't sound as bad as the stuff I'd read, it was still a lot to digest.

"More?" Doc asked, nodding at my empty glass.

"Yeah."

A moment later, he returned with the bottle and, after refilling my glass, resumed his position on the front edge of his desk.

"Doc, can I ask you something?" I said after swilling several more gulps of the whiskey.

He nodded. "Go ahead."

"Will you be there when they cut on me?"

"I'll come see you in the hospital, yes."

"I mean during the operation. Will you be there in the room?"

"As I told you, Dr. Johri will be performing the surgery."

"But you'll be there, in the room when he's . . . doing it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"This type of surgery is performed by a specialist. Dr. Johri is excellent. I wouldn't have recommended him otherwise."

I shrugged. "He's okay; I trust him. But I still want you there."

I watched the Doc blow out a breath. "Al, I don't think—"

"Doc, I'm going to let them cut off one of my balls." I felt like a damn girl fighting back the tears. What the hell would the Doc think of me now? "All I'm asking," I continued, my voice cracking, "is for you to be in the room. I want to go to sleep knowing that someone who . . . who gives a shit . . . will be there to make sure it all goes okay. Is that too fucking much to ask?"

* * *

><p>Bert looked at Al in astonishment. "What you sayin', boy?" He was sitting in the restaurant kitchen looking over the receipts for the day and they looked fine, mighty fine. But Al had just said something he didn't quite catch, and he didn't like the sound of it.<p>

"I'm sick, dad," Al said.

Bert looked over at him, where he was slumped in the doorway. "Like some sort of cold, or something? There's a lot of that goin' around you know."

"No. Dad. I got to have surgery."

"Surgery, boy? This isn't some sort of trick, is it? I know I'm kinda gullible, but, if this is…"

"Dad!" Al shouted and hit the table with his fists. "Shut it, would you?"

Bert was in shock. "Now, boy – listen…"

Al shouted at the top of his lungs. "Dad! NO! YOU LISTEN TO ME! Just shut your BLOODY mouth for a minute and LET ME TALK!"

This wasn't like Al. He never spoke this way. "Boy, what's wrong? Is it something I done?"

Just then Pauline stumbled into the room, sleep sliding off her. She was dressed in the clothes she'd worn to work, and must have fallen asleep on the sofa, while we cleaned up the kitchen.

"Boys! Can't you keep it down, I was asleep!" she started, but when she saw the look on their faces she stopped. She flew to Al and flung her arms around him. He gave her the oddest look - sort of a grim smile - then kissed her forehead.

The pencil fell from Bert's hand and his vision got a little blurry, along with a squeezing in his chest. "Al?"

"It's like this, dad." Al started. "I got a lump in my left nut. And the Doc has examined and it and this other doc, as well, over in Wadebridge. And it's got to come out."

Bert felt his shoulders drop and his face fall. A lump in his bollocks? Must be a joke. But the grim set of his son's mouth and the sad expression of Pauline told him it was no joke. He looked around the room wildly. "You're saying it's something bad, then."

"What? You think I'm doing this cause it's fookin' fun?" Al swore. "Shit, dad! Yes, it's bad. It's real bad."

"So what is it? What the Doc say it is?"

Pauline pushed her face into Al's shoulder a moment. She turned her ginger-haired freckled-face and there was a single tear running down her pretty cheek. Bert decided he'd remember that tear as long as he lived.

"Bert…" she started but her voice trailed away.

He shook his head in denial. "No! No…"

Al breathed deeply. "They need to take it out, look at it, do studies and such, but it's probably… cancer." He slung an arm around his girl and squeezed her.

Pauline added, "Bert, I, uh, found it. The lump, thing… and I was the one who made Doc Martin talk to Al about it. Things went pretty damn quick from there," she finished sadly.

Bert couldn't catch a breath and as he looked at the two of them his heart broke. Dear God no! He'd lost Al's mum, raised the boy all by himself, and now would he lose Al too? Then it was his turn to cry.

"Boy…" He stood and hurried to hug Al who put his arms around his old dad and girl both.

The three of them just stood there for a long while.

"Oh, god," Bert finally said.

"Yeah. I've said that a few times in the last days." Al replied in his typical no nonsense way.

He looked his son right in the eyes. "Ain't there some other test, or drug, or x-ray they can do without cutting…"

Al beat on Bert's back with his fist. "No! If it is cancer there's a real good chance the operation will get rid of it. It'll be gone, dad!" Al went on. "It's got to be done."

All those years when Bert had to be both mum and dad to Al taught him a few things. And one of 'em was knowin' that there are some things you can't change, not for a whole world full of wishes. He thought too about when Al's mom died and he'd had to get real busy in a hurry being a single parent, with a baby son. No delay. That had put steel in his spine. Bert breathed deeply. "Alright boy. When they gonna cut on you?" Those words him hurt to spit them out.

Al gulped. "Thursday morning, dad. Ten o'clock."

Bert's arms felt like lead and they swung straight down and his legs started to buckle. He backed away and stumbled to the counter, turned and found himself peering out the window at the dark harbor. There was a whole lot of bad things out there. But what about…"What about…you know?" He looked back to Al over his shoulder. "Kids maybe? What about that?"

Al sighed, probably thinking he'd never have this sort of conversation with his father. "Doc Martin says things - work out. Usually."

Bert turned from the window and tears ran down his chubby cheeks, but he tried to smile. "Ok, then. We'll just have to go with the flow, eh?" He bit his lip and tried not to sob - not for himself - but for Al and Paul.

Al stood there with Pauline wrapped around him. "Yeah," he said sadly.

Bert wiped his face, reached under the counter, lifted up a bottle of whiskey and set it on top with three glasses next to it. "You two - join me?"

"Damn straight," Al answered.

Paul said yes as well.

And without a word they drank the good stuff. Then they all had a real good cry.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the first time in my life that I'd ever seen the Doc wear anything other than a suit and tie.

And the sight of him striding toward my hospital bed in those blue pajama-like things that surgeons wore with a medical chart in his hands sent me into an absolute panic. This was bloody real. It was really going to happen. They were going to cut me open and, when I woke up in a couple of hours, my body . . . hell, my life . . . would never again be the same.

I felt my heart racing and the blood rush from my head. The only thing that kept me from throwing up all over my bed was Paul's hand squeezing mine tightly – that, and the fact that my stomach was empty because they hadn't let me eat or drink anything since the night before.

Even under the bedcovers, I found myself shivering and wondered why they kept these hospitals so damned cold and why these lousy excuses for blankets were so bloody thin. The fact that I was buck naked under the stupid gown – open in back, of course – wasn't helping my shivering or my mood. Pauline would have gotten me another blanket if I'd asked, but I was determined to show her – and now the Doc – that I was a man, and that a little thing like a chilly room or getting your balls cut on was no big deal.

The Doc stepped closer and I saw his eyes roaming from Dad, sitting anxiously in the chair beside my bed, to Paul sitting beside me, to the IV that ran into my arm.

This was the first time I'd ever been in hospital. Doc thought I might have to go for the sleeping sickness but it turned out that he'd diagnosed me in time and I only needed some drugs. The IVs they'd given me then definitely weren't as cold as this one; it felt like ice water flowing into my veins, which was probably part of the reason I was so cold.

It was weird seeing the Doc standing at the foot of my bed in his surgery clothes, and I wondered if it was bringing back memories for him – and whether they were good or bad. We all knew, of course, that he'd been a surgeon for a long time before coming to Portwenn. And we'd all heard what he'd done for Peter Cronk in the back of that ambulance with Louisa Glasson. Did he wish he was still doing surgery or was he thinking about the last time he operated? Was he worried about seeing the blood? My blood.

His face was, as always, a blank page.

"So, Doc." My dad was the first to break the silence. "Al says you're going to be there when they . . . for the . . ."

"For the surgery." He nodded. "Yes, I'll be in the theatre, although I'll only be observing. Dr. Johri will be performing the surgery." Doc switched his gaze to me. "I understand he was in to see you earlier and explained the procedure. Any questions?"

A thousand. Would I have cancer? Would I live or die? Would Pauline still want to touch me? Would _any_ girl want to have sex with me? Would I still be able to get it up? Would yesterday morning be the last time I ever had sex with Paul – or anyone else? Would my dad still consider me a man when I had only one ball?

I guessed those weren't exactly what Doc meant by questions.

"Doc, how long's the operation gonna take?" Dad asked.

"The surgery won't take more than an hour. The nurse will show you where you can wait."

An hour. One hour would change me from a guy that girls looked twice at to . . . Paul had said it wouldn't matter to her, that she'd love me and want to have sex with me no matter what. That was easy to say while I still looked normal and could . . . perform normally. What would happen when she saw me all lopsided or if I couldn't even do it anymore? I couldn't stop myself from moving the hand that was under the covers to touch my bollock, not caring if the Doc or Paul or even Dad saw me. In an hour it wouldn't be there, ever again.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the Doc watching as they cut me . . . and then tried not to cry as I imagined how I'd look with only one nut. I tried taking some deep breaths. My shivering had gotten worse and it was hard to stop shaking.

Doc's voice from the end of the bed was firm. "Bert, Pauline, I need you to step outside."

"Hey, wait a minute—" Dad protested.

"Doc, I want to stay with Al!" Pauline cried, pinching my hand even harder.

Doc was having none of it. "Out, now! You can come back when I'm finished." He waited a few seconds and, when they didn't move quickly enough, added. "Go! Wait for me in the hallway."

Both of them looked at me for help and, when I didn't come to their defense, slunk away from my bed and moved toward the door of the ward. The Doc's stern gaze followed them out then settled on me.

* * *

><p>Martin had immediately recognized the signs of Al having another panic attack, but that wasn't the only reason he'd ordered Bert and Pauline to leave. Their presence in the room was bringing on his own panic attack – even before the surgery, even before the blood.<p>

The sight of Al's worried father and girlfriend sitting so close to him, and especially Pauline clinging to Al's hand, brought back memories of his last surgery in a nauseating rush. That time, the patient was only a patient and her relatives were people he'd never met. Now, the person who'd soon be on the operating table was someone he knew well, a friend even, as he'd let slip to Johri. The fact that he personally wouldn't be wielding the scalpel didn't make this any easier or make him feel any better.

He forced down the vomit that was threatening to explode from his mouth and, with a longing gaze at the pitcher of water, moved to the side of the bed and busied himself checking Al's pulse and the IV.

"Doc," Al asked, staring up at him, "Is there something you're not telling me? Something bad?"

He was startled by the question and instinctively frowned. "What? Why do you ask?"

"You look scared and you wanted Dad and Paul to leave. So I figured Dr. Johri maybe said something to you—"

He scowled. "No."

Bloody hell. Once again Martin cursed himself for his weakness. Al was worried enough about what was to come without him adding to those fears with dredged up memories – memories of the day he'd first realized his patient was someone's wife, and mother, and sister. Just like Al was Bert's son, Pauline's boyfriend, and his . . . friend.

As a doctor, his only interest should be in ensuring that Al received the best medical care. He'd done that and it still wasn't enough. With Louisa gone, it seemed more important than ever to help the few people in this bloody village that he actually cared about. He found himself wanting the surgery to go well, the tumor to be benign, this surgery to be the end of the treatment Al needed, Al to be able to see himself as a whole man and . . .

"Then is it the blood thing?" Al now asked. "Is that why you're scared?"

Martin shook his head as if doing so could shake away all the thoughts swirling in his mind. "Al, I'm not scared and you shouldn't be either. You're in excellent hands."

"I kind of wish you was doing the surgery, if you know what I mean."

"No I don't," Martin replied automatically.

"I'm sure Doc Johri's good, but I bet you were a damned good surgeon yourself and I know that you care."

No, I don't, Martin almost said, but caught himself before the words came out. Yeah, I do, he mentally corrected, which is exactly why I'm no longer performing surgery. Al was right – he had been a damned good surgeon. But any surgeon, good or otherwise, also had to be dispassionate, had to ignore – for the moments of surgery at least – that the body laid out on the operating table was more than a collection of organs and blood and arteries and bones. That the patient was a human being who mattered to a bunch of people sitting in the waiting room awaiting his verdict. He'd lost that detachment and the result was his being relegated to the backwater of Portwenn and, even then, he couldn't fully escape, as the past few minutes had clearly demonstrated.

Thinking about all of this wasn't doing him any good, and it certainly wasn't doing Al any good. He stood up straight and forced himself to adopt a clinical gaze.

"Al, do you have any questions for me? Regarding _your_ surgery," he added.

Before Al could respond, a young woman in blue scrubs approached the bed, syringe in hand. Seeing Martin with his patient, she stopped up short.

"I don't mean to interrupt, Doctor," she said. "I just need to administer the anesthetic."

He nodded. "Go ahead." Best to get started.

Al looked away as she injected the drug into his IV line and, when finished, made a notation in his chart before leaving.

"It will relax you," Martin explained, noting that Al's eyes were glazing as he started to feel the effects of the drug.

"Doc, I'm scared."

Martin pulled the blanket up close to Al's chin. "You'll be all right."

Without another word, he hastened out of the ward. If Pauline Bert wanted to see Al before he fell asleep, they'd have to hurry.


	9. Chapter 9

Someone dropped something, and it banged off something metal. The sound sort of echoed off walls and floor, I guess, and it made my ears ring. I moved my arm, and I felt something hard and taped at my elbow. I reached for it and someone grabbed my arm.

A young female voice followed. "Mr. Large, it's ok. That's just the IV line. Surgery is over."

A tear trailed down my cheek. "God... I feel…"

"Shush, Al. It's Doctor Ellingham. You're fine. It all went fine."

The room spun as I opened my eyes. The light hurt. "Doc Martin, I could kiss you."

"Don't be absurd!"

That made me laugh, and that hurt, a lot. "Bit of pain down there, Doc." 

"Yeah. Nurse, we need pain meds, I'd suggest…"

"Right." I heard the nurse say. "Doctor, I'll …"

"Just do it!"

A wave of something warm went up my arm and things got all fuzzy…

A bit later I heard another voice and knew it as Dr. Johri.

"Mr. Large? Mr. Large? Al?" he started asking.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm I here, sort of." My mouth worked but it was hard to get some of the words out. "Nurse said it's over… can I have some water?"

A hand came into view with a straw almost in focus. At the bottom of the straw was cold water and it took care of my parched throat.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Doc Johri?

"Yes, Mr. Large?"

"Did you, er, get it all out? I mean, you didn't see anything else, did you?"

"The procedure went very well and the organ was removed entire. We also took small samples of the inguinal lymph glands. All that will be analyzed. All to plan." He smiled. "And your Doctor Ellingham was right there the whole time. Although he did have to take a phone call, just in the middle, but he returned when we were closing the incision."

That made me laugh, and it hurt again.

"What's so funny?" the doctor asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm sure the call was something about a blood test." Even my fuzzy brain could figure out the Doc did as well as he could. He did come into surgery, he'd promised. He said he would. Just didn't say how long he'd stay, though.

But when I heard footsteps and the curtain parted to see Dad and Paul, I didn't care at all about where the Doc had been.

"Boy?" Dad started to say, but he was drowned by the wailing of Paul as she threw herself onto my head.

The smell of Pauline's hair, perfume, deodorant, all that, made me feel like I was at home. That's when I cried a bit too.

A lot later they decided I could go home, but they demanded certain things. And one was something I was really afraid to do.

The nurse looked me at intently as she asked it again. "Have you used the toilet?"

"Since when have you let me out this bloody bed?" They had just pulled out the IV and my arm was stiff from being straight so long.

"Well, here." She dropped the bed rail and held out her hand. "After you go, you can get dressed and go home."

Home sounded good. I yawned. I'd been lying down all day and out cold for some of it – so how could I be tired? "Ok." I started to sit up and she supported my back until I was sitting.

"How are you feeling?" Pauline asked. She was right next to the nurse with an anxious look.

I managed a little smile. "Oh, just super. Brilliant all around." I felt a little dizzy. "Let's get this over with."

The nurse and Pauline hauled me up and when my feet hit the floor and I tried to stand. I felt like an old man. I sighed. After today, maybe I was. I ached in spots I didn't know I had. 'Course some of what I came in with was gone now.

"Ready to stand?" asked the nurse.

"Yeah." So I stood, and with my bare arse hanging out, Pauline and the nurse helped me the few steps into the loo.

"You need help in there?" asked Paul. "I could…"

"Nope, just fine." I grabbed a handrail on the wall to steady myself and slammed the door in her face. Some things I had to do for myself.

I toddled over to the toilet, lifted the silly hospital gown and reached down. At least I could take a pee. The stuff gushed out. I guess they were really pumping in the IV fluid and it had to go somewhere. Things were sort of numb down there and just as well.

I let go, flushed the toilet and dropped the gown. Shuffling to the sink to wash my hands I knew I had to look. I hadn't before. Soap and water – a paper towel. The mirror over the sink showed a pale version of me, hair all wacky, beard grown a lot in a day, and my eyes looked dark.

I breathed deep, grabbed the gown and lifted. I swallowed hot spit then looked. Shit. Jesus! My left bullock was gone. Just skin on that side, no bulge to match the right. There was a big plastic bandage on the left over part of my gut. I'd figured they'd just cut through my scrotum and take it out that way. But Dr. Johri explained by this approach they could get a look at my groin and see if there was any bad stuff down there.

"Al?" I heard Pauline's muffled voice through the door. "You ok, babe?"

I didn't answer. I reached down and felt it was really gone. I sighed.

A knock on the door. "Mr. Large?" It was the nurse. "Do you need help?"

I put both my hands on the sink and leaned forward, fighting for air, trying not to puke.

Paul again asked. "Al? Are you ok in there?"

My eyes squeezed tight then but they snapped open and I looked in the mirror. "Well, Al?" the reflection grimaced at me. "Are you?" he asked.


	10. Chapter 10

Pauline came out of the loo to find the bedroom dark. Al was already buried under the covers and looked to be asleep. That couldn't be – it was still early and he'd come upstairs only a few minutes before she had, and then snuck into bed while she was changing. Which meant that, once again, he was avoiding her.

She ran her hands along the lacy material of her black negligee, smoothing it over her chest and hips. She'd gone to Wadebridge the day before and spent a small fortune on what was an awfully tiny piece of clothing. Hell it barely covered her tits and certainly left most of her arse hanging out, which she guessed was the idea. The woman in the shop had assured her that it made her look sexy as hell and would drive her guy crazy.

Pauline sure hoped so because, ever since Al had come home from the hospital, sex had been a big zero. He'd barely let her touch him anywhere on his body and definitely had made sure she didn't get close to . . . down there. Hell, he hadn't even let her see him without his boxers pulled up to his waist.

She'd tried to prepare herself for how he'd look with only one bollock – had even glanced at a few pictures on the Internet – just so she wouldn't be too shocked and say something stupid. It really didn't matter what he looked like – she loved him because he was Al. Yeah, it might take some getting used to but so did a new haircut or tattoo. Of course, him being a guy and all, he probably didn't see it that way.

She came around to his side of the bed and switched on the bedside light.

Al blinked with irritation. "Hey, what're you doing? I'm trying to sleep."

"There's plenty of time to sleep," she said, trying to make her voice as seductive as possible. She set her knee next to him on the bed, making sure to show plenty of leg and . . .whatever . . . and reached toward the covers. Maybe, just maybe, he'd stroke her leg, which these days would at least be a start.

Instead, he pulled away, grabbed the blanket from her arms and turned aside. "Let me be."

So much for the slinky outfit. Even so, Pauline decided that, tonight, she wouldn't be deterred. Nothing about Al had changed as far as she was concerned and it was time to prove that to him. She crawled into bed and lay down beside him, letting her body snuggle next to his and gently rubbing her arm against his shoulder.

Al did nothing in response and she felt his tension beneath her fingers.

She let her hand roam further down his body, sliding along his hip and gently caressing his arse through his boxers. "I've missed this," she said.

When he still didn't acknowledge her touch, she slipped her hand under his waistband, massaging his hip. It had no effect. His muscles were taught, as if guarding against letting himself take pleasure in what she was doing.

"Come on, baby," she whispered in his ear. "It's me, Paul. Tell me you're not enjoying this."

"Not tonight," he mumbled.

"You said that last night. And the night before." She let her hand roam further, toward his front, nibbling at his neck and squeezing tightly against his back. "I think tonight's the right night, don't you?"

"Stop it!" He twisted hard, dislodging her hand and nearly tossing her onto the floor. "Just stop it, will you!"

"Al, what's wrong?"

He scrambled to the other side of the bed, holding the covers up to his chest. "What's wrong? How the hell can you ask that question, Paul?"

"Doc said you were okay to . . . you know."

"So you and the Doc have been talking about me, have you? That's just great Paul. Now the Doc knows I can't do it. While you're at it, why don't you just tell all of Portwenn?"

Pauline tried to take in all of the accusations. "I didn't tell anyone. Besides, you know the Doc wouldn't talk about you."

"Right." His tone was bitter. "I bet the two of you had a hell of a time discussing my . . . problem."

"Al, Doc hasn't said nothing about you." She felt the need to defend him and herself. She'd only been trying to understand why Al wouldn't touch her and, of course, the Doc would only talk in generalities. "It's only because you won't . . . I only asked him if I needed to be careful like . . . if you'd need time to recover."

"Of course I need time to recover. I had my ball cut out, Paul. It's not like getting your finger stitched up or something."

"I know that."

"Do you?" There was fire in his eyes. "What have you had cut off lately?"

"That's not fair."

"Well, expecting me to act like everything's normal isn't fair either. Cause it's not and it never will be."

"Don't say that."

"I am saying that."

She sighed. "I don't care what you look like. You're still you. I want to do it with you, Al. Tonight."

"Forget it."

"Please!" God, she was begging.

"I'm tired and I hurt. And I'm not the guy I used to be. Now leave me alone." He pulled the covers over his head and turned his back to her.

Pauline looked at Al then down at her negligee, tempted to tear it off and toss it in the bin.


	11. Chapter 11

The Doc looked at me funny across his desk as I digested what he'd just said. Then he went on, "Al, look…"

"No, Doc! You look, it's like this…" I took a deep breath. "I had cancer, right? Now you say I don't?"

"That's what I said."

"And they took it out."

"Right. The procedure went as expected." He squinted at me. "Why in God's name don't you believe me?" Then he shook his head. "You're fine."

I crossed my arms and stared at the ceiling, and my jaws were clenched so tight they hurt. "You keep sayin' that, Doc!"

"You are! You're fine – right as rain – soft as a baby's bottom – "

I dropped my eyes and stared at him. "Yeah, I keep hearing that."

"Al Large, you DO NOT HAVE CANCER!" the Doc practically screamed at me. Then his voice fell. "Al, you do not have cancer. Not any more. It was entirely encapsulated in the tissue Dr. Johri removed."

That was it; the word he'd used before. "Tissue." I echoed.

"Yes."

"Tissue?" I stood up and leaned over his desk. "Tissue. You mean my left testicle, right?"

"And the lymph node biopsy confirmed it. No other sign of disease beyond the organ."

My hands flew up and covered my face. "Doc. Tissue. Organ. Procedure. Biopsy. You and Johri keep saying this like it's all so textbook!"

He looked at me with those pale blue eyes of his. "Those are the technical terms, Al. And yes, yours was a textbook case of testicular cancer that has now been cured."

I balled up my fist and stuck it under his nose. "Case? Damn it doc!" My arm shook. "I'm not a case, it wasn't textbook, and it wasn't an organ!" I dropped my arm and put both hands on the desk and leaned right into his face. "It was," I started slowly, "my left nut, which you guys so graciously carved out of me. And now…"

"Now?" His eyes looked at me and I wanted to smash them.

"Now…" My hand waved down around my crotch. "Things are…"

"Missing? Gone? Cut out?"

I nodded.

"Al, it's natural…"

"Yeah?"

"To feel… diminished… I mean…" his voice trailed away as he saw my tortured eyes.

"Doc. I'm really, really scared," I said and sat back down.

"Of what, Al? The cancer is gone."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as we can be today. Follow up scans and x-rays will confirm that in three to six months."

I wanted to change the subject so I tugged at my trousers. "Look, Doc. You gonna take this dressing off? I can shower and all but…"

"Exam table." He pointed.

I went, dropped trousers, pulled my shirt up and my boxers down. Seemed like I'd been doing that a lot lately.

The transparent surgical tape made an obscene slash across the left side of my belly between my belly button and my leg. And below that, what used to be there, wasn't. On the right, things looked ok, but the left – I didn't want to think about it.

Doc Martin walked over and looked intently at me. "You're depressed."

"Hell, Doc, who wouldn't be?"

"I can prescribe anti-depressants, but you are not showing the signs of clinical depression."

"Oh? Well what _do_ I show?"

"That you're royally pissed off." He started picking at the edges of the tape. "This might be a bit of a pull."

But he peeled the thing off slowly so it didn't hurt and then I could clearly see the thin red line, about eight centimeters long, where they'd dug into my belly. Well where they reached in and pulled out my…

Doc probed the edges of the scar. "Healing nicely. I don't think you need to restrict your activities any longer. Any tightness, pain… pulling? Toileting alright?"

"No pain. I guess that's good. A bit itchy at times."

"That's the internal sutures as they are absorbed. And the other?"

"Works okay, Doc."

He looked at the scar again. "Works okay? What's that mean?"

"Whizzes like it always did."

"Good." He backed up. "Pull up your trousers." Doc walked to the sink and washed his hands. "One more thing."

"Yeah, Doc?" I fastened my belt slowly, knowing what he'd ask next.

"How are things, er, between you and Pauline? She's been very weepy lately."

I eased off the table and stood up. "Well, there is that."

Doc Martin looked at me with an odd look. "Come here."

"Yeah?"

"Come here." He crooked his finger.

"What you want?"

He took a deep breath. "Al, I want you to come over here so I can speak to you QUIETLY!"

"Alright. No need to yell." I got within three feet of him, but his finger kept beckoning me, faster and faster. Finally my face must have been inches from his when he stopped me.

The Doc leaned his bum on his desk, crossed his arms and started to whisper. "Al Large, unless I am mistaken, you are thoroughly mad at the world, me, Pauline, Dr. Johri, and the medical system that may very well have saved your life. And now you have turned into a whinger. Because you don't like it that things are different." He poked me in the chest. "Well too bad! You are alive, young man, so stop the whinging!" He paused and looked away for a moment and then he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Al, that young woman sitting at the computer in the other room, clearly loves you very much. She too is grieving over what has happened. If she lost a part of herself, say – a breast – how do you think she'd feel?"

I sighed. "I guess Paul would feel a lot like I feel. Sort of torn up."

"Exactly. And don't you think she is wondering what will happen next?"

"Sure, Doc. Of course she is. Must be."

"Right. Now, you are a twenty-seven-year-old man who has had a diagnosis, surgery, and a post operative recovery. You have been poked, prodded, scanned, x-rayed, operated on, and biopsied. The surgery you went through is not life threatening and if you take care of yourself are likely to live a very long time. In addition it most likely has rid you of a dangerous disease."

He paused and took a breath. "Now. I have homework for you to do. Pauline can help you with this. Are you working tonight at the restaurant?"

"No. Dad brought in a temp cook to help out, while I got better."

"Fine." He looked at his watch. "My watch shows it is almost five o'clock."

"Yeah, so?"

Doctor Martin Ellingham shook his head. "Here's what I want you to do. Doctor's orders. Call it a verbal prescription – along the lines of patient mental and physical health." He started whispering again.

His instructions were short and to the point. The fact that the Doc was saying _this_ to _me_ was stunning. After all, this was the guy who'd stood up his bride on their wedding day and, two weeks later, she was gone. For good, some were saying. Off to London without even telling him goodbye.

"Really?" I asked, thinking that, if he'd taken his own advice, he and Louisa might . . .

"Think you're up to the task?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Well, I'll try, Doc," I said and in spite of recent events felt a smile break out.

"You'll do fine." He shoved me towards the door and called out, "Pauline?"

The door opened and Pauline swept in. Her face was wary. "Doc, what you want? Al, what's going on?"

I looked at my _friend_ Doc Martin, gave him a big grin, took two steps, grabbed Pauline by the hand and dragged her through the waiting room.

I guess she read the message in my eyes, as she wordlessly picked up her purse and we went out the front door. And behind us, I knew that the Doc stood there all alone.

~The End~

* * *

><p><strong>Authors' Notes:<strong>

**The characters and story of Doc Martin still belong to Buffalo Pictures and this story was just us having a little fun with them.**

**As noted at the outset, we tried to be medically accurate within the limits of our knowledge and research, although we did make a few concessions in the interest of storytelling.**

**Robspace54 and I once again want to thank all of those who took the time to comment on our story. The support among the DM fanfic writers is really tremendous and a huge encouragement to all of us writers.**

**And finally, my sincere thanks to my co-author, robspace54. He wrote as much of the story as I did and deserves more than equal credit. He was also the one who tackled the "hard parts" and pushed us through the muck when we found ourselves mired.**


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